


Red

by FandomJumper (littlelostcat)



Series: Ficlets [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst?, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-29 23:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelostcat/pseuds/FandomJumper
Summary: John deals with the aftermath of an ambush, or doesn't deal with it. Rodney takes over.





	Red

John sat on the edge of his bed, his boots covered in mud and hands in a grimy mixture of red and black. Blood and earth. Not Earth though, he thought with a curse. Dirt, mud, friendly soil. It was blood and dirt. The chill from PX8-329’s rain slid down his neck and spine, and he watched two drops splash down onto his hand. His fingernails were nearly black with … everything. He twisted his hands and uncurled his fingers; and saw the red, nearly black now, remnants under his nails.

A milk run gone bad was what his report would say. Another planet who had lulled the Atlantis expedition into a false sense of friendship. Why are we always the idiotic optimists in this stupid galaxy? McKay’s panicked question echoed in his mind, followed by the onslaught of bullets (their own guns and bullets, courtesy of Michael and his horde). He asked the question again, why were they always the damned idiots in this galaxy? 

More to the point, why was he the damned idiot leading them into theambushes?

Three men in the infirmary, one scientist … John fisted his hands tightly and felt the drying grime crack. One scientist who wouldn’t be working anytime soon. 

He knew the rational thing to do was to shower, protocol had them shower in the infirmary-adjacent showers after every mission then get checked out for any injuries or infection. Tonight protocol could stuff it. He knew the next rational thing to do was shower in his own shower, wash the mission off before he started his report then go check on his men. 

Rational decisions were officially not happening. 

He shifted his focus from his hands to his pants to his boots, mud and water clumped between the creases and along the edges. He prayed it was only mud and rain but part of him knew Atlantean blood was on him. He swallowed the bile that threatened to rise and dropped his head into those bloodied hands and fisted them in his hair. His own team had taken the initial brunt, then SA-9 and SA-5 had walked - literally - into the foray of bullets and screams. 

He barely heard the slide of his door or the annoyed tsk that followed. Through the din of the mission replaying, again, in his head he thought he heard Rodney say something. A muffled “Jesus.” Maybe. 

He then moved, because hands stronger than his own moved him. He shivered, as hands familiar and competent pushed and pulled and shoved. He really should do something. He felt the brutish splash of water, too hot and too hard on his skin and swallowed the water that splashed his face. He closed his eyes and felt his knees give out. 

Conners. 

Mitchelson.

Gran…Cran? 

Christ.

“Grant,” Rodney muttered and the moment snapped back to the present. John was in the shower, beneath him blood, dirt, grass and soot swirled towards the drain. “Dr. Edison Grant. Biologist who shouldn’t have been out there,” Rodney continued and grunted as water hit him in the shoulder. John took the moment realize that Rodney was still dressed and that he, John, was naked as the day he was born. “Damned idiot wanted _real off-world experience_.”

“Off—”

“Shut up,” Rodney ordered and pulled a washcloth from somewhere. John shut up. “He wanted off world experience and he’ll be doing as much administrative crap as I can find for the foreseeable future. His off world experience is permanently Atlantis-based.”

He leaned back and felt the warm tiles of the shower against his back, would have slid into a mess on the ground except for Rodney’s sure hands and strategically placed leg. John surrendered in a way he hated. 

“Shouldn’t have brought them,” John muttered. He waited for Rodney’s response. For Rodney to agree with him. For Rodney to blame him. For Rodney to …. stop. John felt his head forcibly turn until he was looking at McKay. There was mud still on McKay’s face, damnit.

“You cannot control everything that happens on this base, colonel,” Rodney whispered and tightened his grip. “You cannot stop happy-go-lucky soldiers from walking through the gate and firing their weapons instead of listening to their commander officer and ducking for cover. You cannot stop idiot scientists from walking through the gate and into a battlefield. We all knew what we were signing up for when we left the SGC.”

John pull his head back until it knocked against the tiles. He realized that at some point he should have nudged, no _pushed_, Rodney aside and clean himself. 

Fuck shoulds. He melted and followed where Rodney moved him. 

“You’re not an idiot,” he mumbled, and heard the tired slur in his voice. Rodney made an annoyed sound and John looked in time to see his favorite smirk. The one that said, ‘You haven’t seen anything yet’ but also said ‘You’re an idiot’. He really loved that smirk. 

“Well, I’m not _just_ a scientist,” Rodney ran the soap up John’s chest to his neck and John willingly turned as Rodney moved him. “I’m a genius.”

“My genius. My scientist.” On Earth the water would have gone cold. On Atlantis the water stayed hot, too hot because McKay was an asshole. An asshole who was now more wet than John, whose clothes were plastered against his skin. He looked ridiculously annoyed and tired. And John was struck by affection and something else for the man in front of him. 

Rodney took a small step closer, closing the gap between them and pressed an angry, chaste kiss against John’s lips. Then Rodney pulled John until they were looking at one another, “Your scientist. Your very alive, very genius, very here scientist. Where are you, colonel? Are you here or are you back there?”

John moved. Finally moving muscles that were worn and drained. Finally wrapping his arms around Rodney’s waist. Finally looking down as the last of the mission slid from brown to red to pink to clear. The water ran clear. He dropped his forehead against McKay’s and pulled Rodney flush against him then turned them, pinning Rodney against the wall. He grinned, honest to god grinned, when Rodney gasped. 

“Here,” he whispered against Rodney’s jaw. He worked his way, biting and licking and repeating the word until he bit Rodney’s lip. “Right here, Rodney.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fills the 'red' box for my prompt table. :)


End file.
